Initiation
by silentlyatnight
Summary: Every autumn, the Durmstrang students would unofficially declare war on the Muggle population as a way to show their ability to fight and defend their own.


**QLFC, S5, R13 – Checkmate!**

 **CHASER 1:** **Knight** **: Write about a normally timid character going into battle.** **The chess piece MUST be used** **somewhere in your story, as either an object or word.  
(object) chessboard  
(colour) steel grey  
(setting) Durmstrang Institute of Magic**

 **I based my story on this definition: TIMID = lacking in self-assurance, courage, or bravery; easily alarmed; timorous; shy.**

 **Warning: this is a dark story that contains a murder. I guess it should be considered AU as I'm sure they were never so barbaric at Durmstrang... but at the same time, they could totally have been.  
**

 **Beta(s): DinoDina. Wanderers rock!  
**

* * *

Igor knelt on the wet ground behind some bushes, his breathing ragged with a fear that he had been trying to turn down with all his might, and swallowed saliva that felt bitter and too hot at the back of his throat. Getting caught would be disastrous and the dishonor would be so great that he would never be able to meet his Professors' or mates' eyes like he had finally hoped to do after years of not feeling good enough in a school of Purebloods and warriors.

He had been hoping for and fearing this rite of passage for as long as he could remember. Every autumn, the seventh year students would unofficially declare war on the Muggle population that lived in the woods surrounding Durmstrang as a way to show their ability to fight and defend their own.

In their rooms, the students could talk of little else after setting aside the chessboards that had entertained them until that moment. Playing chess was the only distraction allowed — or rather, highly encouraged since it sharpened the mind — and Igor's mates, after their initial annoyance, had come to welcome it as a way to forget the hunger and the cold.

Igor himself had always appreciated chess. He had a talent for it, his eyes quick to find escape routes in that sea of black and white.

But now, here he was, in the middle of an unknown battlefield with nothing but his wand, waiting as silently as possible, shrouded in darkness. All his senses were alert; at any moment, he expected for some noise — the crackling of trampled leaves, of a broken branch — or the sight of a shadow of someone coming his way to jump out his hideout and on his prey.

In his ears, his breathing was still too loud. His grip on his wand tightened.

The Muggles, though, would be more afraid than he was. He kept telling himself that, hoping some unknown deity would listen to it, expecting for a comfort that never came.

What if the Muggles were in a group?

Igor was alone — it was the rule. And he was hungry. After years of deprivation, he still wasn't used to it.

His nervousness added to that. His stomach felt squeezed, and he gritted his teeth, looking at his wand.

Right as he was planning to set a trap to catch some animal to eat, he heard something — the faintest sound of movement followed by some creaking. Whoever it was, they were walking slowly and stealthily. Igor had been right: they were afraid, too.

He wondered what was going to happen if his victim wasn't alone. Certainly, they wouldn't dare attack one of his kind… Or so he hoped. But if there were at least four of them, they could be tempted to put on a bigger fight than he was ready to face.

The knots and flames in his stomach came back, and his eyes frantically scanned the darkness, unsure what to do. For maybe the first time in his life, he wished to be a pawn in someone's capable hands — someone he could trust. He hated not knowing the bigger picture.

Did being a Durmstrang warrior mean waiting in the bushes while listening to foreign noises, trying to figure out how many Muggles there were?

Leaning forward despite himself and lifting up a few leaves, he saw the Muggle — alone.

Igor knew he had to strike. It was the law, designed to select those worthy of leadership and to terrorize the Muggles, teach them to respect Wizards. Secrecy didn't matter as much as having them subdued.

Steadying his knees, he prepared to jump on his prey.

The man was drawing closer.

Igor waited. And he kept waiting even when his victim was mere inches from him. Igor looked at the other's legs, never once daring shift his gaze higher than his prey's chest.

The man passed by him, something clearly arousing his suspicions as his eyes lingered on Igor's hideout. In that moment, Igor found himself unwillingly looking into a terrorized pair of eyes, filled with that same blind fear that always accompanied violence and death. The same fear that had been gripping Igor too. Once again, he resolved to never look anyone else in the eyes, to keep his own cast down until they'd be clear of any emotions and as hard and cold as the steel whose shade they were.

Before he even remembered doing it, a green flash erupted from his wand. For the briefest moment, he regretted it — seeing how similar he was to his victim had shaken him — but it was too late. The curse was absorbed by that body that, emptied, fell on the ground.

Igor sighed.

It was done.

Not caring for his victim any further, Igor disappeared into the wood and headed back towards the castle and its menacing shadows.

Ξ

Standing in the corner of their common room, Igor scanned his mates' faces.

They had all come back from their unofficial war pretty much unscathed and bearing no sign that something had happened the other night. They were as loud and confident as always and like Igor had never felt and would never feel despite having been welcomed to the castle with full honors, honors that he knew he didn't deserve. He couldn't forget the terrorized look in his victim's eyes, and he couldn't stop sensing the smell of death rising from the darkness and filling his nostrils even now.

But he couldn't let any agitation show through, and he wondered if any of his companions felt the same. Especially the ones who, after killing a man, were now playing chess. Each explosion was like a stab to Igor. And yet his eyes were fascinated by the game that was taking place in front of him.

"Knight to E7," he heard one of the players say.

The Knights had always been Igor's favorite chess pieces: regardless of how closed their position was, Knights would always be able to jump out of it, something he often wished he was able to do too.

He glanced at the chessboard again, his trained eyes immediately noticing the ambush the black Queen was about to walk into.

 _The man passed by him, unaware of the danger hidden in the bushes._

 _Igor's wand glowed._

Sure enough, a few moments later, the Knight jumped on the Queen.

 _Fear. Violence. Death._

Igor looked away from the debris, but the dark vision didn't leave him, the explosion coming from the chessboard resounding in his ears for far longer than in the common room.

 _Empty eyes staring at the sky._

In a further, useless attempt to escape that revolting, intimate, and total contact that had been established between him, the killer, and his victim, he stepped back and closed his eyes.


End file.
